


I Hope I Live Till Graduation

by schiwalker



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: My First Fanfic, Rating May Change, Young Sherlock, all the sherlock peeps, may possibly become johnlock and mystrade, not quite sure where this is headed, teen!lock, young john - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-28
Updated: 2014-10-17
Packaged: 2018-01-17 07:29:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1379137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/schiwalker/pseuds/schiwalker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John grinned some more, chuckling a bit, and walked over to help this boy put his books away, “Oh, I never asked.  I’m John Watson, what’s your name?” he inquired?</p><p>“Sherlock.  Sherlock Holmes.” He smirked, pulling on his bag.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Of Cotton and Catapults

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fanfiction, it is not brit-picked, but it is beta'd. Nevertheless, if you find a mistake, have an idea, or just wanna say hi, please leave me a comment! I promise I don't bite. :)

                “ _No,_ Mum, I do _not_ want to walk him around school.  I _do_ have a reputation to keep around here.” Harry growled at her mum from the back seat of the car. Her cheap silver earrings clanked softly with her insistent head-shaking.  John could faintly smell the cigarette stench under her too-strong strawberry perfume.  Harry had angled herself as far away from her mother as she could, in an attempt to keep from being noticed too much.  Not that it much mattered.  Their mum wasn’t really the caring type.

                “Uh…Mum, I _am_ able to walk on my own.  Besides, I’m sure I’ll find someone to help me if I get lost,” John tried to placate his mother, smiling at the headrest surrounded by curly brown hair.  _She’d gotten it done up.  Wonder what she’s doing today._   John wondered idly, wishing he didn’t care.

                His mother heaved a great sigh, turning her blood-shot glare to Harry for a moment after she stopped outside the school.  After her eyes looked Harry up and down for a second time, she tersely nodded, ending the conversation.

                ” _Thank_ you for finally seeing _sense_!” their mum flinched at the volume as Harry grabbed her bag and purse and bolted out the door.  John stared out the window for a few more seconds, his smile slowly dissipating, until he pursed his lips and exited as well, stopping by his mother’s door to give her a kiss goodbye.  She gave him a grateful, if tired, smile and shut her door, driving off again.

                John, used to being alone and fending for himself, sighed, and turned around to face this new adventure he had gotten into.  What he saw in was a beautiful building, set in a campus complete with residence halls, dining areas, and recreational places.  He didn’t much care for other sports, except maybe for rugby, so he focused his short stride toward the building that most resembled a library.  As he passed small, trimmed bushes and dangling trees, he buried his free hand into his front pocket, thumbing the broken knife he always had with him.  It wasn’t worth much at all, but it was the best he could do, and his father had given it to him the day he left.  His calloused thumb ran over the now open blade, too dull to hurt him, remembering all the times it had helped him.

                Caught up in memories, he was surprised to soon find himself in front of the imposing doors of the library, wondering why his mother even tried taking care of them, but knowing the reason all the same.  As long as he and his older sister were in her ‘care’, she still got money.  Money that was spent on almost everything but them, but that was what her sympathizing boyfriends were for, to help her without realizing it.  That is how John and Harry are able to attend this school, through her rich boyfriend of two years.  John sighed, removing his hand from his knife after closing it carefully, and pushed open the ornate double doors.  He didn’t bother going to find his room first, he still had a couple of hours until dinner, and he didn’t carry much, just a pack on his shoulders for school purposes and a duffle in his right hand holding his essentials.  He had learned early not to hold onto many things, as they either got broken, sold, or stolen.

                John stepped through the doors and looked around in awe at the assortment of books.  He had never seen so many, there was enough to need a ladder that could be slide across the wall to help with the books up high.  In the middle of the dark but comforting room were numerous tables with reading lamps on them.  All of them were either filled with whispering teenagers or used to hold mountains of books for one or two studious people.  The only table left open for him was in the very back, the oldest looking table that lacked a light.  John didn’t much mind though, he was just truly content, maybe even happy, to be somewhere he wouldn’t have to constantly worry about his sister or his mother (or the current man in her room). 

He strode down the aisle, looking around at the different people near him and at the books in the room equally.  He noticed a couple of guys intent on building some sort of catapult with a ruler, toothpicks, tape, and cotton balls.  He saw the different labels on the shelves showing the letters used to organize the authors last names, noting that there were sometimes quite a few shelves before the letter would change.  He saw a pigtailed girl reading one of about fifty books beside her, and the couple curled together shooting furtive glances toward the librarian office often.

                John smiled slightly, _This could be nice…I hope it’s nice_ he thought, placing his two bags beside him on the old oaken table.  No sooner than he did that, did he notice cotton-ball-making-boys harassing a child surrounded by books.  _By surrounded,_ he thought _I mean about twenty open around..._ her?  Him?  He couldn’t quite tell, the curly black hair was long enough to be a girl’s, but short enough to be either.  The kid was currently hunched over a specific book, and was very skinny.  Almost alarmingly so.  His musings stopped, however, when a cotton ball finally hit the curly haired child, and he flinched. _Yes, definitely a boy, no little girl would stare so…evilly at a couple of boys just for a cotton ball_ John noted.  However, upon contact with the floor, the cotton ball _clicked_.  A stone, not cotton then.  They lobbed a stone at this poor mate while he was reading. 

                The older boys laughed at their newfound game and high-fived quietly, while fitting another stone in the makeshift machine, smirking when the curly-haired boy sunk deeper into his book.  John looked on with curiosity, mingled with disgust at the display.  After yet another white stone clicked on the floor after bouncing off the poor boy, John stood up, grabbed his bags and walked over to the book cluttered desk.  He set his pack on the table _just_ in front of the boy, so unless the stone was shot up high, and aimed just right, it would glance off the bag.  As John settled himself back down into the chair opposite and pulled a small book out of his duffle, he could feel the glare of the small boy on his hair.  John opened the tattered notebook to the first page, dully feigning interest until the prickles from the glare became too much.  He looked up into a pair of fiery ( _Grey?  Green?  Golden?)  eyes_ not trying to hide their annoyance at all at this intrusion.  A curly black lock of hair fell from behind the ear it was at into the boy’s eye, whose attention shifted to this new intrusion.  The boy flicked it away with irritation, and refocused his glare on the sandy-blonde haired boy in front of him.

                “Hello.” John smiled, looking back down to his notebook.  He wasn’t sure if this boy would appreciate him sitting in or not, but decided to just be polite and see where that got him.  His favorite oatmeal-colored jumper started feeling too hot as the prickles came back in full force.

                “Hi.” The boy said narrowing his eyes and searching John with his stare.  Suddenly, confusion blossomed on the pale boy’s face as his head fell to the side, still searching the boy in front of him.

                “Could you not do that?  It feels weird.” John mumbled, squirming in his chair and still not turning the page he had started on.

                The confusion quickly snapped back, leaving behind it cold indifference as his eyes shifted downward to his book.  “Why are you here,” the boy, now blocked behind a curtain of curls said quietly.

                John looked up in confusion, “Because those boys were messing with you, I don’t really want to cause a scene in a library so I just blocked their vie-oomph.” John pitched forward, hand going to the back of his head as he heard a _click_ resound beside him.  John frowned, rubbing the newly formed knot on the back of his head.  He sighed, burying himself back into his deep blue notebook.  He turned to a black page, about one-third of the way through the book, pulled out a pencil, and tried to sketch.

 _Thump. Click._ John winced, ignoring the pain blooming from the already hurt knot in his hair.  He forced his clenched hand back into relaxation to calm himself down.  He concentrated on the picture of his sister he had started drawing a couple of days back, ignoring the chuckles behind him, once again feeling the prickle of the strange boy’s stare.

_Click-click._ This one bounced twice, landing against his foot, where he kicked it away.  He looked up once to meet those strange eyes for a short second, enough to register the confusion still locked on his gaunt face.  He almost didn’t hear the question that floated away from the small boy’s lips, “Why?”

                John looked up, smiling, “Why what?” _Thump. Click._ He winced.

                “Why are you here?” the boy asked, louder this time.

                “Because you looked alone, and those boys didn’t seem like the kind to fix that.” John answered, shifting his eyes back down to his drawing.  His head was really starting to hurt, but he had nothing to cover it with so just left it there.  He had hurt worse.

                The boy was about to retort, when the door opened and two giggling girls came in, hurriedly being shushed by the students around them trying to study.  The catapult-bullies abandoned their contraption in favor of looking at the red-faced girls that were coming their way.  John almost breathed a sigh of relief, until he saw who the girls were.  _Harry,_ he groaned internally, _and Clara, of all the times…_

                He sighed again, and stood up to meet them, walking past the bullies on the way.  One stuck out his foot in an attempt to trip him, which he gingerly stepped over.  When the bullies saw where he was headed to, they got up to follow him, trying to dissuade him from walking anymore. 

                He twisted his way around a tangle of empty chairs between the two tables, a look of long-held patience on his face.

                When Harry finally noticed her little brother, her nose wrinkled in annoyance, she had forgotten about her baby brother and his books.  She and Clara inched forward until they were almost a step away from John, whose eyes held a disappointed glare at the smell of alcohol on her skin.

                “What, it’s not like you’re always gonabae…gonna, be, there to stop me anyway. _Aaaand_ ,” she drawled, “I’m the older one, I call the shots now.  Hee hee, shots, I like those…” Harry said quietly, but with too much enthusiasm to be sober.  John sighed again and grabbed her elbow, attempting to lead her to the table with his bags so she could sit down.

                “Whaddya think you’re doin mate?  Taking these pretty girls for yourself?” The obvious ringleader of the group rounded on him, smiling lewdly at the girl whose elbow he held.  “Y’know, you can’t have all the fun, besides you prolly got yourself a headache now, don’t ya?” He reached out to grab Harry’s arm, but John pulled her back, looking tired, and not the least bit scared.

                “Oi, I want some too, so let. Go.”  The leader said, punctuating his last two words moreso than he had been.  He reached out again, but this time John pushed his hand away, looking at him in with an obstinate expression, clearly having done this quite a few times.  Even when he was new, he still had to take care of his sister.

                The bully didn’t like this, and decided to force John to let Harry go.  Before he reached the boy, he was grabbed by a small stringy arm from behind him, holding him back.  He started with surprise at this, and turned around smiling like a cat who had found his dinner.

                “Well _Sherry_ , didn’t know you’re cold heart gave a damn bout anyone.” The bully tried to swat away the hand.  He ended up with his hand twisted behind him and a menacing whisper to go away quickly in his ear.  He tried to struggle, but was met only with more pain in his wrist.  He heard one of his friends try to help him out, but they were met with a swift punch to the gut, forcing them down.  “Fine, _fine._   Not like you two are worth my time anyway.” He tugged away from the boy, sneering at the two drunken girls, and walked away, out of the building. 

                “Now that they are no longer content to attack you, will you answer my question.” The boy didn’t propose his question _as_ a question…more as a demand that will get met.  That prickly glare was back, raking over the three of them before coming to rest once more on John.  There, it stayed, confusion lingering just under the surface.

                “I—what question?” John’s surprised voice betrayed his lack of remembrance.

                “The question I had asked before those imbecilic wastes of precious breathable gas made complete fools of themselves,” The boy scrunched up his nose, in annoyance or disgust, John couldn’t tell, “I asked you ‘ _Why are you here’_ and you did not answer me with an acceptable response.  Shortly therafter, you became…distracted with your drunk sister and her girlfriend of at least two months, so I had to make the situation preferable to conversation again, so tell me. Why are you here?”

                “I—I…uh…” John shook his head, “I was telling the truth, you...looked lonely.” John mumbled sheepishly.  He looked nervously at his sister, too busy flirting with Clara to notice much of anything else. “Ho—how did you know about my sister?” He tilted his head, curious.

                “Oh, that was easy.  She is obviously just learning about puberty and such so is trying to channel her energy elsewhere.  You can tell by her shirt and how she holds herself, the shirt is too tight, but she doesn’t flaunt it or look natural like an older girl would.” The boy straightened his coat, flipping up the collars. “Your mother doesn’t take very good care of you two and she rebels against the idea of blindly following her so she decided to try out girls instead of boys.  This lead to her eventual realization that she is, in fact, a lesbian, and to her drinking, if only to annoy her mother even further.” The boy had a  bored look on his face as he recited this all off almost too fast to comprehend. “Her girlfriend, Clara, is wearing a coat that is nice enough, but not one she cannot afford.  It is two sizes too big for her and has stains on the breast pocket, indicating it is used often but not taken care of.  She, however, prizes it and tries her best to keep it pristine.  Therefore, those two month old stains, which look stunningly like alcohol, could not have been made by her.  That coupled with the fact your sister only started drinking three months ago, and that the coat is a perfect fit for her shows that she must have given it to her, after abusing it and staining it like so.” He looked at his cuffs, straightening them. “Their affection toward each other is still somewhat hesitant, and they seem surprised to find themselves touching, showing they haven’t been at it for long.  Now, back to my question, the truth, _why are you here?_ ” The boy said with a tone of annoyance.

                “I—uh…Wow…That was…Wow, that was brilliant, how did you come up with all that?” John asked, excitement forcing a grin onto his face.  He stepped closer to the boy, looking at him with awe, waiting for a response.

                “It…was?” The boy replied, surprise creeping into his voice.  He fidgeted uncomfortably at the new attention he had acquired, but didn’t back down.

                “Yes!  That was extraordinary, _how_ did you do that?” John asked again, moving to grab the boy’s shoulders to keep him from running away, but at the look in his face he thought better of it and flopped his arms by his side ungracefully.

                “I…just observed.  It’s obvious to anyone who is willing to look…” the boy trailed off, clearly expecting some sort of disgust to be thrown his way.

                “Why are you looking like that, I’m not gonna hit you or anything like that.  Who would want to hit you after that act of pure brilliance?” John smiled, shaking his head.

                “Most people.  Usually they are not so…excited…when I do that.”  The boy leaned back, and turned around toward his cluttered table.

                “What do you mean?  What do people normally say?” John asked, following him automatically.

                The boy stopped to turn around, facing him, a grin threatening to show, “Piss off.”

                John grinned some more, chuckling a bit, and walked over to help this boy put his books away, “Oh, I never asked.  I’m John Watson, what’s your name?” he inquired?

                “Sherlock.  Sherlock Holmes.” He smirked, pulling on his bag.


	2. Explosive Hobby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock scares a little boy, John finds a room, and goo is everywhere.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter, hope you guys like it!!  
> Beta'd by mi primo, but not sure who he is on here yet!  
> Also, American, not brit-picked.

**_Chapter II: Explosive Hobby_ **

Shortly after their introduction, Sherlock took off toward the dormitories, presumably to study in peace.  John watched him with fascination, still remembering the amazing knowledge he ascertained with just a single glance.  Still smiling, he grabbed his notebook, gingerly putting it into his duffle, and his two bags, heading towards the front office to find his room selection.

He was feeling much better now that he had an…acquaintance, at the least.  His jeans, still a little too long, drug on the concrete beneath him as he strode down the walkway, turning a sharp right toward the tallest building on campus.  His smile never wavered as he walked by rosebushes and tiger lilies, stopping a few times to capture specific ones on his camera phone to draw later.  After about ten minutes of interrupted walking, he managed to find the entrance, going straight in to the room labelled ‘ _Main Office’._  He stepped inside to be greeted by the smell of fake pumpkin, thanks to a lit candle at the end of a desk.  He looked around at the small middle room, seeing the secretary typing away at her computer without fault. 

“Hello?  I am new, and was trying to find my room number…do you think you could help me?” John asked, setting his duffle down beside him.  He waited patiently for her to hear him, mind wandering, yet again, to that boy, Sherlock.

The secretary stopped typing and looked over to him.  She looked at him as if he were a dirty cat that just brought a new present home, but, after a second, she plastered a fake smile on her face and started looking at the paper he had set on her desk.  She typed something into her computer and wrote a number on the paper, now ignoring him completely yet again.

John frowned and reached forward to grab the paper with the newly written room number.  He saw a map of the campus beside it, and picked that up as well.  He turned his attention back to the number… _222A Baker Hall_.  He found the building on the very edge of the campus, the one building closest to the edge of the campus.  It appeared to be the most recently built structure as well.

With a grimace at the thought of all that walking, he walked out the office and into the now windy fall day.  His injured shoulder pained him with the cold wind and the weight of his pack.  John shrugged it off, silently walking down the deserted sidewalk.  By the time he reached the new building, his shoulder ached fiercely, and it was almost dinner time.  He walked inside and sat down on one of the benches beside the door, resting a minute before the ascent.  He didn’t see anyone at the front desk, so he walked over to the elevator and went to his floor.  _I am going to be so happy to take a nice long shower after this…_ John started at the ding signaling his arrival. 

When the door opens, he finds a very angry, much underdressed Sherlock fuming at a boy with tears running down his face.  “Hey, hey, what’s the problem here?” John set his bags down in the hallway, and runs between the boys.

“This unintelligent sack of starch-filled vegetables just _threw away_ my _chemical set_.  Could you imagine such idiocy? When I was informed I was to acquire a roommate, I had truly hoped they would be at least semi-decent!” Sherlock spat over Johns shoulder.  The boy behind him ran over to the other room, crying loudly.  “Yes, please leave; I quite like my I.Q. where it is at without your simpering lowering it.” Sherlock growled, loud enough to hear across the room.

“Hey, Sherlock, can’t you get some more?  And I’m sure they will let you switch roommates if you ask.” John had his hands on the younger boy’s biceps, holding him in place.  His worried look passed over Sherlock’s trembling face to land on his eyes.

“I was in the middle of an _experiment_.  It will take me _weeks_ to acquire the right materials again, not to mention the agonizing wait I will have to experience _yet again._   Why can’t they just give me someone who is not a _complete_ idiot?  Even a little less of one would suffice.” Sherlock suddenly quit complaining and locked gazes with John. “Oh.  John, be my roommate, I can actually stand you.  Yes, this will do, I shall inform my brother of the change.  Go tell that boy what your room number was so he can move his things out as soon as possible.”

John, stunned into silence, let Sherlock out of his grasp, but just for a second before reaching out to hold him down again.  “Wait, wait.  When did _I_ reach this conclusion?  Shouldn’t you, you know, ask before rearranging somebody’s life, yeah?” John asked, bemused smile creeping onto his face nonetheless.  Sherlock started, and turned to face him.  His confusion lit up his face when John laughed.  “Don’t worry, you big prat, I’ll switch for you.  Just, for future reference, ask first?” John smirked, questioning gaze now turned to the boy genius.  At the odd look on his face, John giggled.  It looked as though he wanted to say ‘no’ just to say it, but wasn’t sure.

“…uh, right, why are you laughing?  I don’t recall saying anything remotely funny within the last twenty-three minutes.” Sherlock turned his confused glare back to his phone, already texting his brother for the arrangements.

“Nothing, absolutely nothing.  I’d better go find that poor boy.   Speaking of, what is _my_ new room number?” John grabbed his bags in his now empty hands, and headed toward the loud sobbing in the other room.

“Your new living arrangements, implemented as soon as possible, will be in room 221B Baker Hall, I had better inform Mrs. Hudson as well…” He trailed off, mumbling to himself as he walked down the hallway and turned left. 

John smiled, shaking his head, as he went off to tell the boy the good news.  After finally getting him to understand, the boy smiled and took off down the hallway, trying desperately to not cry again.

John walked down the hallway where Sherlock had disappeared, and found a crooked doorknocker under a plate reading _221B_.  He ignored the knocker and pushed open the door, finding his new bed to be the only clean thing in the room.  He sighed at the mess before him and set his belongings on the bed.

“So, all this yours then?” John asked politely, hand waving vaguely in front of him.  He saw Sherlock look up, quickly assessing the boy on the bed.

“Yes, all this is mine.  And all that is yours.” He said looking at the two lone bags beside the older boy.  He narrowed his eyes and stepped forward, broken beaker falling forgotten on the bed.  He mumbled something quietly, staring at the other boy, watching him squirm under his eyes, but John couldn’t understand him.  Suddenly he jumped up, straightening his side of the room up considerably as an uneasy John unpacked. 

He set his notebook in his nightstand, and procured a picture of him, a girl not much older, and a woman in her late thirties.  He looked at it for a bit before setting that on his nightstand.  He placed all his clothes neatly into his dresser, as well as anything else he had with him.

Soon the room was cleaner, still a bit messy, but not near as bad as it had been.  There was a mini fridge at the foot of Sherlock’s bed, and quite a few lab materials settled on top.  The bed was simple, but also covered in various items.  It looked like it was used more for storage than sleep.  The big closet that they were both meant to share was unusually clean, however.  It had nice suits and dress-y shirts and pants hanging neatly, with a few different pairs of shoes in the bottom.  They each had their own sets of drawers, fortunately.  Sherlock’s nightstand also held a book, slightly bigger and thicker than John’s own blue notebook.  There were two windows; it was quite a large accommodation.  The window on Sherlock’s side looked chipped and dented in places.  John wondered why, just as Sherlock jabbed a knife through a stack of papers, into the window frame.

“Do you like the violin?” Sherlock snatched a pair of beakers from underneath his bed, depositing them onto the small refrigerator.  John snapped out of his reverie and stared at the now-pacing boy.

“Uh, I guess?  As long as it doesn’t echo a dying cat.” John answered truthfully, turning back to his notebook.  “Why, do you listen to it or something?”

“…Or something,” Sherlock smiled softly at the violin case he just pulled from his bed.  He placed it gently on his bed.  He looked at it for a bit before turning to his closet, grabbing a deep blue dressing gown and throwing it on.  “Oh, you should probably know sometimes I don’t talk for days on end, sometimes I leave and don’t come back for even longer.  Would that bother you?” he paused and turned to look at John, head cocked to the right.

“Not really,” John looked at him curiously.  _Well, this is certainly more interesting than my wall at home_.  John smiled, sketching a cautious line on the blank page of his notebook, starting on a picture of his view from his bed.  He sketched the obtuse angle of the bed-corner, adding a simple post on the corner. 

He hadn’t yet looked up, and so was confused when he realized the noise of bustling had stopped, and Sherlock was gone.  He glanced at the clock on his phone, eyes widening at the time.  _Oh sh—only ten minutes till dinner, and I don’t even know where it is!_ He threw his notebook aside carelessly, grabbed his jacket, and almost tripped on a graduated cylinder in his rush out the door.

*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*

After twenty minutes of wandering around, looking for someone to ask for directions, he stumbled upon a noisy building hidden by the main office.  He approached the doors tentatively, nervous about his tardiness.  He wiped his palms on his trousers, and opened one door enough to see through. 

_It looks like Hogwarts—well, without the floating candles, and sky, and general lack of magic_ , John thought wryly.  But it did, to be honest.  It had four long tables down the center and a perpendicular table for teachers on the end.  Luckily when he opened the door, everybody was too busy talking to notice.  He crept inside, careful to be quiet.  Once inside, he looked around for a close, empty chair.  He spotted one by a boy only just taller than himself.  He was sitting across from the pigtailed girl from the library, and an animated boy with chocolate brown hair who looked to be a grade above them. 

John walked over, noticing the girl smiling at him.  He smiled back politely, “Is anyone sitting here?” He asked, pointing to the empty seat.  When she shook her head he swung his legs over onto the bench.

“Hi, I’m Molly, and this is Mike.  You new here?” the girl, Molly, inquired, raising a spoon to her mouth. 

“John,” he smiled and reached a hand out, “And yea, this is my first day.”  He shook her hand and turned toward Mike.  The other boy was lost in thought, staring toward another table.

“Mike,” Molly giggled when Mike jumped, “stop staring at Irene and say hi.”  Mike flushed, grabbing Johns hand in a quick handshake.

“Hi, sorry,” he mumbled, bright red.  John chuckled at the nervous boy, and turned toward the small feast in front of him.  Today, it seems, was soup and sandwich day.  John chose the one closest to him, full of meat and broth and vegetables. 

“So, where do ya live?  I’m in the dorm hall right beside this building.”  Molly said, biting down into a grilled cheese.

“Oh, well, my house is about twenty minutes that way,” John pointed to the wall opposite him, “but my dorm is in Baker Hall.  Other side of campus.”  John grimaced, slurping a spoonful of soup.  He winced at the heat, but continued eating.

“Oh, I know the one, be careful though, it’s got that Sherlock bloke in it.”  Mike said around a bite of ham and bread.

“Oh, hush you.  He isn’t that bad.  He’s actually really nice when you get to know him.” Molly said, blush creeping up her neck.

“Oh yea, he’s cool.  He’s my roommate.” John smiled at the terrified look on Mike’s face.

“But, how are you still there?  Why didn’t you move?” Mike’s face turned red and he almost choked on his ham. “No one ever actually stays with him.”

“Oh, I wasn’t assigned.  I chose to move in with him.” Mikes eyes went wide at the new information, making John’s smile grow.  “I met him in the library before, and after he made his current roommate run off crying, I suppose I sorta volunteered to take his place.  He seems cool to me.”  John frowned, “Speaking of, where is he at?”

“Oh, he hardly ever eats, says it _messes up his transport_ , whatever that means.” Mike mumbled, picking at a floating celery piece in his soup.

John swallowed and placed his spoon in his now empty bowl, “Transport?  What does that mean?”

“I think he means his body.  Like, his brain is the only important part and the rest is just transport.  I think he said that one day.” Molly replied, looking at his bowl.  “Why’d you eat so fast?  Our dinner lasts more than fifteen minutes.” She smiled.

“Oh,” John looked down, _I forgot, it’s not going anywhere_.  “I’m just a fast eater.  Look, I’ll see you later, I’m going to make sure I have all my things together.” John stood up, taking one last gulp of his soda, and walked away.

“Ok then, bye!” Molly waved excitedly, ignoring the embarrassed look on Mike’s face.  John smiled at his newfound friends and stepped outside into the windy night.

*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*

When he arrived at his room, John knocked once, just for warning, before stepping inside.

“Hello, Sherlock?  Didn’t see you at dinner, mate.  Where’d you go?” John turned the corner just in time to see a small, but loud, explosion occur at the end of the other boy’s bed.  Sherlock jumped back, falling on the floor with a _thud_.  John immediately rushed over to him, looking him over for injury.

“What, the _bloody hell,_ was that?” John scrunched his nose at the stench after finding the other boy injury-free.

“That was the sound of someone losing their job,” Sherlock mumbled, brushing his white lab coat clean.  “I had tried to reproduce my experiment with a new set of chemicals, however _someone_ ,” he seethed, “decided to give me the _wrong one_.  For God’s sake, can anyone actually be less than an idiot?  Even for a second?”

John’s shocked face stared at Sherlock for just a second longer, before he shook himself and moved toward the mess. 

“I’d be careful if I were you, God only knows what else they gave me that was wrong.” Sherlock mumbled, sniffing at a glob of…something, on one of his socks nearby.

“Uh, Sherlock, you sure you should get that close?” John eyed the sock warily, grabbing a broom from the closet nearby.  He slowly scooped up some bits of the glass beaker, wincing at the hissing noise that followed.

“Oh, it’s fine.  I just need to spray this with something and it will be perfectly safe.  Well, I say perfect…” the dark-haired boy trailed off, digging into his closet for something.  He pulled out a black spray bottle, grinning madly, and looked at John.  John noted the stare, and backed into the bathroom.

John waited a few minutes before a faint hissing and a pop could be heard.  He poked his head out of the bathroom into a smoky room.  The odd splotches of color were still thrown everywhere (like his new jumper) but they were all mostly grey-ish now. 

“There!  All better, now I can reset the experiment.”  Sherlock starting moving toward his makeshift lab.  He was so focused on his failed experiment that he didn’t notice when John appeared behind him and grabbed his arm.

“Oh, no you don’t.  You’re going to change clothes and we are going downstairs to drink hot chocolate and watch a movie.” John pulled him toward his closet and threw him toward the door.  When Sherlock turned around to move away, there was a stubborn boy with crossed arms blocking his way.

“Tedious,” He tried to get around the shorter boy, to no avail, “I have yet to find a movie that both I, and others of my age group, enjoy.”  He finally stopped trying to escape and just simply stood there.

“Too bad, Bond waits for no man.  Well, kinda”  John grabbed an old T-shirt and some sweatpants and shoved them into Sherlock’s chest.  “Come on, we haven’t got all day.” John grinned at the other boy who was, finally, changing, before turning toward his bag to grab his movie.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> COMMENTS APPRECIATED AND BEGGED FOR, really! ILY


	3. Hot Chocolate of Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hot chocolate, James Bond, and freaky goal posts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry its been so long, I've been busy and never seemed to grasp the chapter I wanted. Also, for future reference, I live in the USA so know nothing about the European schooling system, bear with me friends.

                Once downstairs, the two boys (one sulking viciously) plopped onto the couch in the lounge.  As usual, they were alone, excepting a few stragglers reading in the corners.  John stared down Sherlock for a moment, making sure he wouldn’t run off, before poking the DVD into its slot.  After making sure the previews were starting, he turned toward the mini kitchen to get their hot chocolate.  The chocolate powder wasn’t near as good as his own at home, but it would do the job.  He got the milk and mugs down while he hummed the opening.

                When the hot chocolate was done, John walked back to the lounge and sat down on the floor, his back to the couch.  He handed Sherlock his mug and smiled at the pout on his face.

                “Oh, come off it, you’ll be fine.  It’s not like drinking hot chocolate and watching James Bond ever killed anyone.” John turned back toward the movie.

                They watched the movie for a while, Sherlock muttering about the plot and the characters the whole time.  John heard a sound from behind him, towards the door, but ignored it in favor of the movie.

                “Well look at this, it’s our goal post and the freak,” a deep voice sounded from behind the two boys, causing John to jump a bit in alarm.

                “Ahh, Sebastian, here I was hoping against hope you were in a different hall.  Well, I guess they couldn’t handle all of your stupid and sent you here to balance me out, quite an achievement, I assure you.” Sherlock stared intently at the TV, second cocoa in one hand, still hot, and the other curled into a fist at his thigh.

                “Oh yeah, I’ll balance you out alright.” Sebastian stalked away from his group toward the couch, where John was currently praying to the ceiling for deliverance.

                “Not now I hope, wouldn’t want to upset John now would we.  I hear he has quite a temper,” at this Sherlock smirked, “As does my father, who funds most of the scholarships here.  Oh, you’re on scholarship, aren’t you Sebastian.  Pity if it suddenly…disappeared.” His voice never wavered.  His fist never moved, however.

                Sebastian stayed there for a few seconds, pondering this new development.  He looked back to those following him, and eventually came up with the best statement he could.  “Yeah, well…you’re a freak, so…yeah.”

                After the group of boys marched away, mumbling to themselves, John finally let loose with a long pent up laugh, and Sherlock finally relaxed.  “Oh that was great, why didn’t you do that in the library?” John leaned into the cushions at his back, facing Sherlock.

                “They would’ve ignored me without the librarian present, and Mrs. Hudson is right through that door,” he gestured vaguely toward the door in the corner.  “Although, on second thought, maybe I should’ve let it happen.  This movie is ridiculous.” Sherlock scrunched up his nose and peered into his now empty mug.  “John, more hot chocolate is needed.” He held out the cup expectantly toward the bewildered boy next to him, who ignored him in favor of turning up the volume. 

‘ _I could have given you the world’ ‘The world is not enough’ ‘Foolish sentiment’ ‘Family motto. ’_ The tinny voices arose from the t.v. once more.

                “Well, ridiculous excepting those last two lines, at least they make sense.” The taller boy muttered, back to dissecting his mug with his eyes.

                “What was that Sherlock?” the blonde-headed boy turned from the t.v. to face his friend.

                “Sentiment.  It’s ridiculous, and foolish.” Sherlock rose from the sofa, eager to get away from the mass of teenagers cluttering the once empty room.  “Come along, John.  I expect you actually have to sleep, and I need violin practice.” He glided from the room, robe swishing behind him.

                “You git.” John mumbled as he turned off the t.v. and placed the mugs in the sink, following his friend shortly after.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and thank you for reading!! This is my first fanfiction EVER. *DUH DUH DUUUUHHH* so PLEASE leave feedback, I'm begging you. I look forward to continuing this story for quite some time and I'm not sure how long it will turn out to be, so thank you ahead of time for everything!! And I love you all! :D


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